


All the King's Men

by mechanistmacha (SaturnJay)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Collars, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feral Dimitri, Insult Kink, Light pet play (mostly just Dimitri is more a beast than a man), M/M, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Orgy, Praise Kink, Rimming, Some Bondage, no beta we die like Glenn, some blood and violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:30:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23330179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturnJay/pseuds/mechanistmacha
Summary: The Blue Lions are through with war. They are through with the battle and bloodshed; they are finished with losing their loved ones. Now, they hold each other close and safe. Edelgard is dead and they can begin to heal.But if they are tired of war, they must be tired of beasts. So they leave theirs behind.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 24
Kudos: 61





	1. Summons

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like feral Dimitri. But he's so, so sad. I want to give him everything, my angsty boy.
> 
> For fic updates and (sometimes) art, you can follow me @Mechanist_Macha

Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius was not the kind of man who enjoyed reading letters of any sort. Anything, even sleeping and eating, was a chore if it took him from the training grounds or the true battlefield. Replying to letters was even worse, because it required thought beyond the honing of a blade or the endless pursuit of new skills or strengths. Fortunately, this letter did not require a reply.

Unfortunately that's because it was a mandatory summons.

"What is this?" he spat, nearly on the shoes of the messenger. The woman was not cowed.

"Duke Fraldarius, it is a summons from the offices of the King."

"I know _that,"_ he hissed back. He turned away before she could chide him, then, for asking. She was a messenger from the Palace in Fhirdiad after all. She did not have to be intimidated by the Duke for simply bearing a letter.

Felix took to pacing, forgetting she was there. A summons from that beast King... It wouldn't be so unheard of, except he was invoking his right to choose his bride.

'Bride,' well... That was a loose term. They'd been friends even before they went to school together at Garreg Mach, so Felix knew the King's preference for men. But after he'd gone insane, Felix wanted nothing to do with him. He didn't want him dead per se; that would plunge the Kingdom into utter chaos, something Felix didn't desire even if it meant sharpening his blade once more. And despite his madness, Dimitri at least seemed to be holding it together enough that nothing had collapsed. More likely it was his advisors keeping everything together, Felix thought bitterly.

But why him? Was this revenge? Revenge for all the times Felix called him _the boar prince_ , for not staying by his side when he was destroyed? For not looking for him when they all thought Cornelia had executed him?

His hands shook with fury.

"And if I refuse?"

"You can't refuse." She said what he already knew.

"But he needs an _heir,"_ Felix pointed out uselessly, not needing to point out that it wasn’t something he could provide. Still, at the thought of sharing a _bed_ with the boar, Felix’s stomach turned over slowly and rearranged itself into something less pleasant.

"You were not the only one summoned."

"The only one--" Felix stopped pacing to put all that energy into a scowl. "What, is he building a _harem?"_ Should he really be angry about that? As if he were some jealous lover?

The woman sighed. She wasn't paid well enough for this. "I do not pretend to know the King's intentions. If I return tomorrow without you, he can call for you to be executed, as is his right."

"Tomorrow..." Felix almost choked. He wasn't being given any time to run. Of course not. And even though he doubted the King would really have him executed for not appearing at court, he shuddered to think what he _might_ do.

So. This was the ruthless way Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd intended to rule the Kingdom of Faerghus. Felix wouldn't even be allowed time to see his friends before he was to go lie back in the King's bed and think of the country.

 _A tyrant,_ Felix thought bitterly as he swung his leg over his favorite horse. He took the blades he could carry, wondering if he'd ever have permission to use them again. Would he be nothing but a bed slave? He'd rather die.

Still, the messenger said the King was only reviewing his options, not choosing yet. It was the only reason he agreed to go in the first place. Felix would just have to hope he could convince Dimitri to have mercy. If he had to, he could flee to Almyra; surely Claude would shelter him... If he could escape at all. But his life and friends here in Faerghus, he didn't want to give that up just yet.

Surely Dimitri would not choose him. Bad-mouthed, bad-tempered, and no experience with romance and sex... Surely literally _anyone else_ would be a better candidate.

  
  
  
  
  


It turned out _anyone else_ was a group of Dimitri's old friends. People who knew Felix well and were equally as terrified. Ingrid, Mercedes, and Annette were likely in the clear and not to be chosen. They were women after all, and Annette and Mercedes were already married to one another. Still, Ingrid was worried. She might be chosen specifically to be Queen because she could produce heirs; something she had always dreaded she would be used for. It wouldn’t even be because of the Crest of Daphnel, but simply the accident of her gender.

Ashe, too, looked terrified. He had been hoping to be knighted by the King, not bedded by him. He kept sniffling into Mercedes' comforting shoulder.

Seeing that his friends had also been chosen, Felix was thinking maybe to murder the King. There would be yet another regicide on their hands.

Sylvain seemed to be the only one happy to be here, chattering on and on about how _anyone_ should be happy for the opportunity to bed a King, and how he hoped the Margravate he was supposed to care for would go to someone else.

Sylvain slung his arm over Felix's shoulder. "Why so glum, Fe?" he teased, not heeding his warning glare. "Didn't you have a crush on His Majesty from like... Forever ago?"

Felix ripped away from where his arm, from where they were all waiting in the foyer, huddled miserably. He fingered the hilt of his sword, the sword that had butchered hundreds before. How could Dimitri have sunk so low? To terrify his only friends into giving up their dreams and their lives to serve him in this way... Had he really fallen so far?

He had seen him after the half decade since he was supposedly executed. Savage, bloodseeking, reckless and unfeeling. He thought only of killing then, and only of chasing down Edelgard and slaughtering her. But since the war was over, Felix could only have assumed he'd gotten better.

He supposed not.

They were greeted by Dedue, Dimitri's loyal retainer and their friend, stubborn and calm as usual. And, as if nothing strange were happening at all, he invited them to lay down their burdens and share a meal he had prepared for them.

"Dedue!" Ashe cried, both panicked and relieved. "What's going on? Why has His Majesty called us here? He's not really going to... To..."

Felix could see it, studied the normally expressionless lines of Dedue's face. "You sent those summons," he snapped, accusing.

They all looked at him.

Dedue did not bother to lie. He didn't even seem surprised. "I did," he replied with the sort of quietness that should not come from such an enormous person. "His Majesty requires your aid, all of you."

"But why didn't he just ask?" Mercedes tapped her lip thoughtfully, a sure sign she was worried. Felix wanted to shake some sense into her, tell her she should be more worried for herself than for a mad King.

"When have we ever seen His Majesty ask for help?" Sylvain laughed. "Dedue, he doesn't even know we're here, does he?"

The look on Dedue's face suggested that Sylvain was right, Dimitri was completely unaware of this plan.

"Right," Felix growled. "I'm leaving." And he turned to do just that, only to be met with the crossed spears of the crownsguard, barricading his escape.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot let you go just yet," Dedue said quietly. "Not until His Majesty dismisses you."

How Dedue, of all people, suddenly had the command of the crownsguard was beyond Felix. But it seemed true enough.

Felix refused to eat a single thing. Everyone else ate, though they were nervous. But at least Ingrid was pursuing justice instead of stuffing her face, demanding what was going on from the King's vassal. None of them had seen Dimitri in two years, when the war ended. They all went back to their homes and kept in touch with each other. Annette and Mercedes married, that was the last time Felix saw them all in the same room, about four months ago. But Dimitri had not come, and everyone was relieved about that.

"What's going on with His Majesty, Dedue?" Ingrid said firmly. Her tone required-no- _demanded_ answers. "Why did you summon us? And why under the guise of a marriage summons?"

Everyone leaned forward. They all wanted to know that as well and they had a right to.

Dedue set his fork down, as placid as the frozen surface of a lake. "His Majesty is lonely."

Felix snorted, hateful, arrogant. "So you brought us here to cheer him up? Throw him a party?" he sneered. "Or maybe it wasn't a joke at all, and we're all going to be stuck here as his harem after all."

"Felix," Ashe whimpered, the last one among them who would ever speak ill of his King. He was so sure, so positive that it couldn’t be true, that his King was an ideal King who would never do such a thing, but Felix knew better.

Dedue ignored Felix's tone, as he always did. Felix hated him all the more. "His Majesty has long been tortured by the remnants of the war, and the events at Duscur," Dedue went on. "And his only friends have not reached out to him."

Mercedes looked up, more sharply than anyone had ever seen her. "That is simply not true, Dedue. I have written His Majesty countless letters, as I know Annette has."

Ashe piped up. "So have I! I-I mean not _countless_ but..."

Even Sylvain seemed indignant. "I came here last year to see him, but you were the one who turned me away!"

Felix had nothing to contribute. He had not attempted to get into contact with the King, and he stood by that decision.

Dedue nodded at Mercedes. "I have received your letters, and His Majesty has read them. Of course, he is too busy to reply, but a letter cannot replace the comfort of your presence. And Sylvain," he frowned, the first reaction he'd had since they arrived. "You came to the palace in pursuit of Lady Vanessa and never once requested an audience with His Majesty. I turned you away at Lady Vanessa’s request."

Sylvain mumbled something about 'could have at least asked' but he didn't answer him properly.

Ingrid finally sighed, breaking the awkward silence. "Well, now that we're all here, why don't we spend some time with His Majesty? It _has_ been a long time. And I'm sure he can clear some space in his schedule to see old friends."

The rest of them agreed, which was to Felix's clear distress. How could they all just calmly plan a lunch with the King when they had been forced here under false pretenses and weren't permitted to leave? They were _hostages_ of the King, not 'old friends!'

He stood up abruptly, shoving the chair out from under the table and glared straight back at Dedue. "And?" He snapped. "When do you intend to let us go? Some of us have Dukedoms to lead."

Dedue's response was simple, too simple to represent what it suggested. "When His Majesty is cured."

Felix blanched. "There's no _curing_ that beast!" he snarled, his hands clutching so hard at the table's edge that even the thick wood groaned under his fingers. "How is any of this _our_ responsibility? He went mad after Duscur, you of all people should know that! I lost a brother then and a father to the war right after! We're all fucking suffering, Dedue! His fucking Majesty can go screw himself for all I care! Just because he's King doesn't mean he gets to own us!"

His chest heaved after saying all of that, because it was simply true, and he'd been holding it back for so long. 

Dedue stood up and Felix tensed, as if the man was about to launch himself over the table and strangle him. Instead, cast his eyes to the floor, obedient. Subservient. 

"The last time his Majesty was happy was with all of you, surrounded by his friends," he replied quietly. "I implore you, please save him."

Felix knew as soon as the words left Dedue’s lips that every single one of them would agree, that they all loved Dimitri, no matter who or _what_ he was. He struggled for an excuse. He could say they'd never been close, but that was not true. Before Duscur, he, Sylvain, Ingrid, and Dimitri were the best of friends. Before the war, even though Felix treated him badly, Felix kept worrying for him, watching his back, hoping his friend would come back to him. Hoping that the darkness would eventually seep through Dimitri's heart and finally be purged by time, leave him pure as he was before; changed, perhaps, but with hope for the future.

No such luck. The very moment Edelgard came unmasked, Dimitri came unhinged. Any hope for recovery then was darkened, shunted off to hide with the rest of Felix’s untended emotions.

As far as Felix was concerned, Dimitri died that day.

Dedue could see this all, written plain as print, in Felix's eyes, amber that could never melt. He swallowed, showing the first signs of anxiety. Good. Felix thought he _should_ feel pretty badly for dragging them all into this.

"Please," Dedue said once more, even knowing politeness could not sway Felix. "A few days. Just... stay a few days. I will let you return home if you help with His Majesty."

Felix wanted to rip the table he was gripping like paper. But not even Dimitri was strong enough to do that.

"Fine," he hissed, and he only agreed because all of his other friends might never forgive him if he didn't. "A few days. Then I'm getting the hell out of here."

He turned and stormed out. Even though he hadn't even been given a room yet, he knew Castle Fhirdiad well.

The days he spent here as a child wasn't something he could ever forget.

  
  



	2. Night Howls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You still hate me so much," he whispered mournfully into the aether, as if Felix wasn't there to catch the words. 
> 
> "I will always hate you," Felix tried to snap back, but it came out scratchy and hoarse from the abuse of his throat, and a little slurred from the fingers pressed against the inside of his cheek. 
> 
> Dimitri shook his head. He didn't believe him. He petted him with his free hand, stroking his cheek and he watched Felix close his eyes, turn into the touch like a ship under the siege of a storm turns gratefully towards a lighthouse's beacon.
> 
> "Then hate me," he said softly, and snapped his hips forward again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's smut in this one (well, mostly a hand/blow job) but honestly? It's mostly angst. Angst, angst, I love angst.
> 
> For fic updates and (sometimes) art, you can follow me @Mechanist_Macha

It was only by begging from Dedue that kept everyone else from telling the King the truth of why they were here. And it was only begging from Annette and Ingrid that kept _Felix_ from telling.

"Please, he'll be so upset!" Annette whined.

"Good."

"Felix," Ingrid sighed, and it heralded the beginning of a long, winding lecture that boiled down to ‘duty to His Majesty’ and ‘responsibilities as the Shield of Faerghus,’ a title which Felix never agreed to take when his father died, but was passed down anyway.

At that point, he agreed just so she would shut up. He was too old now to let lectures from his childhood friend keep him from doing what he wanted, but it was Ingrid after all, and once she got going she never ever stopped.

Of course, it wasn’t like six of Dimitri’s childhood friends could show up to his castle without him noticing. Dedue had carefully planned their arrival while the King was visiting a nearby village that had been hit by a devastating flood, helping to rebuild. But he was scheduled to return that night. Annette wanted desperately to plan a surprise banquet where they all jumped out from under the long table; a plan utterly foiled by Felix pointing out that suddenly jumping out at an unstable warrior who’d survived years of traumatic warfare was bound to have disastrous consequences.

So they settled for meeting him in the foyer to greet him when he arrived.

Dedue had managed to find rooms for all of them, apologizing that they were so spread out because those of the recovering Court had already chosen their beds and, well, they lived there. They were nothing grand, but it didn’t bother Felix any. Though he was the Duke of Fraldarius territory, he never saw the need for anything quite so grandiose as other Dukes no doubt expected to come with their lofty positions. Felix had always been a swordsman first and a Duke maybe fourth or fifth.

The mirror betrayed his weariness and anger. This was suffering in the worst way. He could handle the chaotic tides of war, of countless battles, of bloodshed, of ambushes. He’d even been captured and held prisoner for a time in the aftermath of the war by some Imperial loyalists. For Felix, war was easy. Peace was more trying. And comforting a man Felix long suspected was dead? Even worse.

Still, he washed his face and showed up, because he promised he would.

When the King arrived, he was flush from riding and his hair was swept back, pulled up, longer than any of them remembered it. He stood, stunned as they cried out their greetings, Mercedes and Annette rushing forward to embrace him. Felix watched with narrow eyes as he embraced them with a weary, but genuinely happy smile, just in case he forgot who they were and attacked them. 

No such thing occurred, to his relief, and they retired to the dining hall.

“It was a small town near Gideon,” Dimitri was explaining to them over the plentiful dinner after his shock at their arrival had worn off. “It is forever raining in the Tailtean Plains this season. Luckily there weren’t any casualties, though we did manage to fend off a few bandits trying to take advantage of the villagers.”

“Oh, I’m so glad everything worked out,” Mercedes clasped her hands over her heart.

“His Majesty was ever so _gallant_ , I’m sure,” Sylvain teased, throwing a dramatic hand over his brow. “Rushing in with lance drawn to defend his royal subjects!”

Dimitri blushed. “It was nothing so heroic as all that,” he protested, spearing his steak a bit nervously. “My advisors tried to talk me out of going myself, but, well… I feel it is my responsibility to help in times of need like this one.”  
There. That was the Dimitri they had all missed. Every one of them leaned forward in their seats, eager to talk, eager to catch up, eager to tease him and see more of his adorable, blushing face, probably regretting the two years when they did not reach out to him. Every one of them but Felix, who sat in silence, eating quickly like he used to at the Academy when everyone dragged him to join them in the dining hall.

And Dimitri, because he had missed Felix as much as he missed any of them, perhaps more, dared to attempt conversation.

“Felix, you’ve hardly said a word,” he prompted gently like he was afraid he might scatter, a very probable concern. “Tell me, how have things been to the east?”

Felix glared at him, just as sharp as always. “Fine.” He went back to his plate, both hoping that would be the end of it and knowing it wouldn’t be.

It was clear Dimitri struggled for a topic. “Everything is going smoothly, then? Nothing I could help with, perhaps?”

Felix’s inhale was like a warning signal to those around him. Ingrid, to his left, shot him a look; Sylvain, to his right, nudged his thigh under the table. Right. He was here for them. He wouldn’t ruin their time with Dimitri since they wanted it so much. He closed his eyes, struggling to bite down the irritation that excessive chatter brought. Especially chatter with the boar.

“Everything is going fine,” he repeated, through clenched teeth this time. “No need to get involved.”

The King looked disappointed, even sad, but he left it there. He knew Felix didn’t want to talk to him.

Felix couldn’t even believe they were having dinner together. Everything was so pleasant, so rosy, but he knew it was an illusion that would soon shatter. It was for the sake of his friends that he stuck around to find out when. He endured dessert for the sake of those friends, but when they wanted to retire to the sitting room to chat some more, Felix finally bowed out. He was sick of watching the beast pretend to be a man.

  
  
  
  
  
  


In front of the mirror again, Felix washed his face, he washed his hands, lip curled, as if he could wash away the mere presence of Dimitri. Why was he the only one who could see it? Why was he the only one not blinded by the King’s chivalrous attitude and sweet smiles? Why couldn’t it be obvious to the rest of them that his eye remained so haunted, emptier than the eye socket beside it? How could he protect such fools, who threw themselves in harm’s way for the sake of friendship with a monster?

He needed sleep. He’d already run the gamut of the King’s private training grounds, sharpened his swords, unpacked and put away his things… He estimated it was likely past midnight at this point. Probably even on the closer end to dawn. But it wasn’t like he felt safe, sleeping in a castle where a beast roamed the halls. It also wasn’t like he could stay up forever. Maybe he could shut his eyes for a quick nap. Surely that would be fine. Even beasts needed rest, right?

He must have fallen asleep faster than he meant to, because when a noise in the hallway startled him awake, even the sounds of the night servants had long been silenced. He blindly reached for the blade that slept in its scabbard beside him no matter where he went. He’d suffered assassination attempts before.

Felix waited. Had he imagined the sound? Perhaps a cat tearing through the castle hallways? Felix was fond of cats, and knew their tendency to rip around at night. But just as his fingers wrapped around the scabbard relaxed and his eyes began to feel heavy again, he heard it.

A moan.

If it had been in any way throaty or lustful, Felix would have assumed it was just someone having some nighttime fun and gone back to sleep. The sound that echoed around the old grey stone outside his door was nothing of the sort, was guttural and haunting. Like the ghost of some depraved animal wandering in search of prey, long-starved.

Felix got out of bed. The sounds were close by and he had a feeling he knew exactly who it was.

He threw open his door, blade at his side but only half drawn. To be honest, he didn’t know how much of a need there was for a sword, much as he was loath to believe not every problem could be solved by a naked blade drenched in blood.

Not to mention if he killed the King of Faerghus, he’d have more than a mere fight on his hands.

The beast ducked from the lantern light that streamed forth from Felix’s open door like a holy beacon, exposing the underbelly of his wickedness, his sin. He snarled, his arms (still armor-clad) wrapping around his head as if to protect himself from the glow, his single blue eye staring out at Felix without focus, darkened by his madness, brightened by the prowl of stalking the night, like every nocturnal predator might.

It would be one thing if this beast was terrified of the light, but Felix knew Dimitri too couldn’t stand it, liked to move about in the darkness where he could hide.

“What are you doing, skulking around at night, boar?” Felix snapped, standing in the doorway so he could slam it shut and put it in between himself and any potential attacker. Not that a wooden door or a metal latch could stop the boar King if he truly went on a rampage.

“I see them,” the beast whimpered. “I… I still… they’re _here…”_

Felix wished he could pretend he didn’t know what he was talking about, but those days were long past. He scowled, the severity of his brow striking even in such dim light. “Edelgard is dead,” he said, flat and unfeeling. “She’s been dead for two years, Dimitri.” He shouldn’t even call him that, but sometimes reminding him of his name ripped him from his reveries. At least, they had in the past. “Even _you_ should agree you owe those fucking ghosts nothing more.”

The beast shook his head, shaggy, like limp golden fur, covering his face. “No… n-no, they still… they still _call_ for me…”

Felix sighed and set aside the lantern and the sword; a mistake he wouldn’t soon replicate. He crouched in the hallway before him and offered his hand, a ghost of its own, the past of Felix’s kindness, offering a hand to help instead of the tip of a blade to keep the beast at bay. Perhaps guilt _did_ stir in him just a little that night, when he was deprived of rest and anxious from all that had transpired. “Come on. I’ll take you back to your room.” He supposed he could probably find it if Dimitri had it in him to direct him.

So close, the beast surveyed the face before him and spoke his name like a lifeline.

“Glenn?”

Felix tightened every line of his face. He should have known.

“Get up, idiot,” he hissed, grabbing Dimitri’s arm, ignoring his flinch. He hauled, but unless Dimitri wanted to get up, Felix wasn’t strong enough to manage the deed by himself. Thankfully, Dimitri buckled his knees so he could stand, though he swayed dangerously. “Come on. Which way is your room?”

Dimitri didn’t answer, swayed just a little too far so that Felix was forced to hold him up. The much smaller man grunted with exertion. _“Dimitri!”_ he hissed, trying to bring him back to himself, a capable man who could at least _walk_ upright when pretending to be a person.

The beast did not seem to hear him, didn’t realize the inconvenient burden he was… just like always. After several fruitless attempts to call him back to reality, Felix began hauling the King into his own bedchamber. He’d just leave him there and find a different room. Or better yet, he might as well go back to the training grounds. He doubted he’d be able to sleep after listening to Dimitri mumble his dead brother’s name in the dark.

It took a great deal of effort to heft Dimitri into the bed. He was still wearing his _armor_ , and had those heavy furs to contend with too. But Felix just barely managed it, panting with exertion. _“Fine,_ just stay here and stop causing trouble for everyone!”

Dimitri lay there, looking ill in the bright light, staring at him with such misery that Felix was sure he could taste it on his tongue.

Felix turned away, ignoring him, began to undress. Might as well get his day clothes back on. He was sure he’d be up until the next night.

“Glenn... are you leaving?”

Felix set his jaw, determined not to turn around and hit him. He had thought the days were long distant when he’d be called that name again. “Isn’t that what you want?” he drawled, as full of sarcasm as the language would allow. He kicked aside his clothes, never the tidy sort, looking for his shirt.

The beast was off the bed and across the room so quickly even Felix’s keen instincts could not have saved him. He gasped with pain as he was shoved into the cupboard below the mirror, the wooden edge digging into his ribs as Dimitri’s full weight descended on him. Felix could just barely get his hands up to the wash basin to stop his head from slamming into the mirror and breaking it.

 _“Fuck!”_ Felix cried in utter shock at the sudden agony that climbed through his chest. “What the hell!? Get _off_ me, you fucking boar!”

The beast was not listening. The cold metal gauntlets snaked around Felix’s chest and tightened, as if he could pull Felix into his chest, hide him in his ribcage and keep him there.

“Don’t leave me, Glenn,” he begged, so pitiful it was disgusting. “Why do you think I cling to you, even now? Even after I offered you her head, even after I tore out her heart to prove my devotion to you all… to father… to stepmother…”

 _“I’m not Glenn!”_ Felix snapped, struggling with little success to free himself from the boar’s grip. Felix may have been strong, but he did not bear the strength of a man twice his size and with the power of the Blaiddyd Crest. His lungs were being crushed between the cupboard and the King’s body, and he was beginning to see stars. To his surprise, Dimitri seemed to heed those words, his tight grip faltering until he let go altogether and moved away.

Felix managed to lift himself off and turn around, panting as he rubbed the red marks the cupboard left in his chest. “You fucking moron… how can you _possibly_ still be clinging to him? As if you have any right!”

Glenn was _Felix’s_ brother after all, merely a friend to Dimitri. It didn’t matter how close they had been. None of this was even remotely fair.

Dimitri had stumbled back, staring at him as if searching for the right name.

It was not the right name. “...Rodrigue?”

“All right, you know what? Fuck this,” Felix hissed and seized Dimitri’s upper arm. He’d attacked him, went moaning through the hallways, keeping him awake, reminded of his dead father and brother, and Dedue was keeping him a hostage here. He wasn’t putting up with any more. “Get up. Go be someone else’s problem.”

Dimitri resisted weakly, but even weak, he was stronger than Felix and stood fast, swaying, in the middle of Felix’s room.

“Who… who are you?” he whispered.

 _“Felix!”_ He was fast losing his temper, shouting loud enough that surely people could hear them down the hall. If that was the case, no one bothered to come check on them. _“Felix Hugo Fraldarius!_ How many times before you wake up and return to the living world? If you love the dead so much, go join them!” he spat, hateful, wanting nothing more than to have this man vanish, to stop hanging over Faerghus like an eternal cloud.

The beast lurched forward and Felix dove for his sword. He wasn’t fast enough; Dimitri had him pinned to the cold stone wall now (infinitely more comfortable than the cupboard, but still unpleasant). The beast’s labored breathing was drowned out by the thudding of Felix’s terrified heart. Was this how he was going to die? Held hostage in Castle Fhirdiad, attacked by the man who was once his best friend? Would every member of his family die for the Blaiddyd line?

“Let me go,” he heard himself say, frustrated by his own fear, but Dimitri had reached up, caressed his cheek with his gloved hand. Felix whipped his head to the side, away from him, but that massive hand followed, clinging, brushing through the tangles of his hair more tenderly than Felix had ever seen him touch anyone. What was he doing? Suddenly that single eye was focused, fixed on him and nothing else. There was an intensity Felix did not expect, held there like a rabbit, looking down the steel head of an arrow.

“W-what?” he growled, but it was suddenly less venomous, suddenly more surprised than furious. “What are you _doing?”_

“Fe...lix,” the beast whispered, now cupping his cheek, brushing his thumb over his bottom lip. Felix had more than half a mind to bite him, but something had so abruptly turned in Dimitri’s tone. Something Felix had never heard before. And damn him, he was curious. Dimitri’s questing fingertips stroked along the length of Felix’s nose and across his brow, committing him to memory. His face was half-turned so he could look at him with his one good eye. “Felix.”

“What?” Felix answered, surprised and angrier still to find how difficult it was to suddenly find words. He still sounded like himself, he hoped. Impatient, at least.

The smile on the man’s face became a little, soft thing, more like Dimitri than the beast, perhaps. “Felix. It… it _is_ you.” And for the second time, he was wrapping Felix in his embrace, sheltering him from the cold of the bricks, squeezing him so tightly, Felix began to wonder if he even realized he was doing it.

And why? Why could he suddenly not find it in him to snap, to berate, to shove him off? Why, all of the sudden, was it different here alone with Dimitri, in the privacy of his room, in nothing but his breeches? What changed when Dimitri touched his face and called his name so tenderly? It was true, before Duscur, Felix had loved Dimitri like he loved no other, but that was before.

That was before, wasn’t it?

“Felix,” Dimitri hummed again, against his hair, and Felix’s resolve crumbled.

“All right, you big baby,” he muttered darkly. “Just… go to sleep now, okay? I'll… find somewhere else to sleep." All of the sudden, even training felt like too much. 

"You're still going to leave me?"

Felix wished he could pretend he wasn't now shuddering at his voice, but, well, Dimitri was so close, still slumped against him, holding him, and Felix could feel the rumbling of his words against his body. "I'm not leaving," he said back, no longer with the animosity of a more spiteful man. "I promised I'd stay a few days at least. I'm sure Fraldarius territory can manage without--" 

Dimitri let go of his chest and seized Felix's wrists, slamming them hard against the wall. Felix gasped sharply at the sudden bruising of his arms and twisted them, trying to break free of the death grip. But trying to break Dimitri's grip was like trying to chop down a tree with one's bare hands. Now, what was resignation and even affection had become fear once more. 

_"I won't let you leave."_

"Dimitri, it's _Felix!"_ he cried, still struggling. Had he already forgotten?

"Felix… you're always trying to get away from me." Now the single eye that was fixed on him was full of despair. "You left me to rot. To rot in the very castle I now rule."

Felix's heart had left his chest, had sunken to the pits of his innards. He was staring at Dimitri, not the beast, but the man who remembered Felix’s treason. It wasn't like he'd had a choice. Edelgard broke them all apart and the Alliance was the only stable force that could hope to stand against her. Claude was the only stable man to lead that force, even when Dimitri had so many loyal people at his back.

"And even then, I heard your insults while I waited for you in my cell," Dimitri hissed, his breath falling over Felix like a storm. "You once called yourself my friend. Yet you never reached for me, Felix. You were never there like Glenn was. Like Rodrigue." 

An explosive rage filled Felix's throat like a pocket of poisonous gas finally punctured in his heart. "You were _mad!"_ he spat back. "Did you want us all to _die_ for you? Die in your name? For what purpose?! To what _end!?"_

For a moment, Dimitri faltered and Felix hoped maybe he'd gotten something through to him. 

"No," he whispered back, unsteady, too small for his breath. "No, never. Felix…" He hugged his smaller body to his own again but that was only one arm. The other hand still gripped, still blackened Felix's wrist. "I would never want to lose you, my dearest friend. My Felix, my…"

He buried his face in Felix's shoulder, inhaling roughly, like he could suck him into his lungs. Weakly, Felix tried to break free. He was so, so tired. He was so, so sick of this. 

"Felix… Let me keep you."

That was enough to recapture his flagging attention. "What?" Surely he couldn't mean as a prisoner, could he? Here, in Castle Fhirdiad, where they once played hide and seek together? "Dimitri…"

The sigh of relief shook from the beast's mouth like an apple from a tree. "Ah… I remember when you used to call me by my name. You had such sweet eyes back then. Now you have such ugly words for me." He nuzzled deeper into Felix's shoulder and Felix swore he felt those dry lips brush against his skin. "Will you call me by name, one more time?" 

As if that would cure him. Stubbornly, Felix remained silent. The beast got the message. 

"I see. So you are gone from me entirely, then."

It was dizzying, how fast he spun Felix around, yet keeping him within the circle of his arms. The beast's full weight descended on him again, and now his breathing was not soft, but a chorus of many growls as if his ghosts had joined in to taunt him. Felix would admit to no one but the wall his cheek was smashed against that he was scared that Dimitri would rip out his spine, pluck it from his body as easily as tearing into flesh already rotten. Was he so rotten?

He was nothing now but a meal for the beast. Not that he didn't try to stop him. He pushed against the wall, hoping to create an opening, to no avail. "Stop! _Stop!_ What are you--" 

"Do you know how long I waited for you?" came the silencing snarl. That snarl was against Felix's bare shoulders, right at the nape of his neck. It then became more appealing to survive to press against the cold brick wall instead of the warm monster behind him. "I waited so long, Felix. So long…"

His lips were grazing him softly, but somehow the friction was unbearable. Felix squirmed under them in horror. What was he going to do? Surely he wouldn't really hurt him?

"You never came back to me. Until now, until now," the beast chanted like some dark ritual. "And I'm not letting you go this time."

He kissed his back, every one of them like a brand, the beast marking his territory. Felix stopped fighting then, stopped trying to wrest himself free. He let his head fall to the brick with a little _thump._ He should expect no less from a mindless animal like the King. He should not have assumed he could walk into the territory of a beast and leave of his own will whenever he liked. He should have run, run far away as soon as he got the summons. But he didn't, and he was trapped in his own guest room by the beast King of Faerghus. 

"Felix, Felix," he kept whispering, stroking his back with a deceptively tender hand, still encased in gauntlet and glove, while the other held him down, as if his hands had different intentions. One to coax and one to possess. One to woo and the other to imprison.

Felix closed his eyes. In another world, this was exactly what he'd always wanted. To be touched by these tender hands. But this was not the same, and this world, this Faerghus, this Dimitri was not as rose-colored as all that.

The beast was still calling his name, exploring his open back, vulnerable, easily taken. He didn't have his sword, and even if he had the advantage of position to punch or kick, Felix wasn't sure he would take the opportunity. Perhaps this was what he deserved after all. He had never been kind to Dimitri after he lost so much. He'd been so afraid after he saw him quell the rebellion outside the monastery, the first time the beast reared its ugly head. So afraid, he pushed him far away, far away where he could never again be reached. 

He winced as the beast traveled lower, kissing his back along the spine. 

"Let me go." The words felt hollow and he knew they would go ignored. 

"No, Felix, never. Never again. I need you. _I need you."_

Now the arm circled him, stopping halfway to grip at his waist, hold him tightly to mark him with bruises that only a beast could leave. Felix closed his eyes, leaning against the wall, letting him do whatever he wanted. But as the beast touched lower, squeezing his thigh, Felix bit the inside of his cheek so hard it wept blood.

How sick. To hate him and to want him at the same time. His stomach knotted like the tough sort of rope that could never come undone. Felix was frayed at the ends and he didn't remember why he was here or what he even lived for. Maybe he deserved to be used like this. Maybe he _wanted_ to deserve it.

He shuddered as that big, spiderlike hand crawled along his belly, reaching the laces of his breeches, ripping them open. There was no barrier, especially not cotton, that could keep the beast from what he wanted for long. Even now, even against his will, Felix wondered if it was himself the beast wanted, or simply revenge. To make Felix feel as lost and debased as he once was. To pull Felix apart at the seams so he could watch all his willpower fall out, so he was just as hollow inside as the King. 

Felix tried to swallow, but every nerve was afire and it took too much effort even to breathe as the beast returned to his neck, growling, hunched over him, pressing his open mouth to his naked throat. Felix could scarcely contain a whimper. It had been a long time since he'd indulged in company of this sort. It was more efficient to take care of his own needs, after all. He hadn't realized how sensitive he had become, to come undone at just the brush of cracked lips, a rough tongue like that. 

Or maybe it was because of who they belonged to. 

_"Felix…"_

He kept saying his name, and in a way, Felix was grateful. At least the beast was not under any delusion that he was someone else. Not his brother, not his father. What did that mean, exactly? 

He was so, so ashamed how he bucked his hips forward into that cold hand, still knowing it wasn't skin to skin. Did Dimitri ever take off his gloves?

"You're mine, Felix," the beast warned him, rubbing his gloved palm over his cock, a painful friction, and Felix did feel entirely claimed by that hand, swallowing. "You can always run but you cannot hide from me."

Goddess it was true. No matter how far away Felix thought he had gone, how much distance he had put between himself and the beast, Dimitri always lurked in the corners of his mind, gnawing at the edges, keeping him on the teetering edge of his own madness; a madness he kept at bay by his own habits. Swords. Training. Work. Riding. Battle. Hunting.

Were any of them, were Felix and his friends different from the beast? Were they just better at masking their obsessions? 

He braced himself on the wall and just kept his eyes closed, as if he could pretend it was anyone else but Dimitri, anything else but the bloodseeking monster who forgot his own name at night. He felt his remaining clothing ripped from his body but he didn't get the chance to be cold, just felt those hands on him, those lips burning a line from his shoulder, down his arm. The beast captured his hand, nuzzled his palm, kissed it like a treasure. Felix could have turned around, faced him any time he wanted to. But he couldn't. He couldn't look at him. 

Like any beast, his hands were hungry, pawing, _clawing_ at him, and Felix could no longer pretend not to be affected. He pressed into that touch, eyes screwed firmly shut as the beast took whatever dignity he had left. Scraped it from his thighs, scratched it from his chest. Sniffing, ravenous, at his hair, inhaling his scent for the hunt should he escape his grip.

He said his name again, but Felix was hearing it less and less under the blood pounding in his tired brain. For once, he was tired of fighting. His body, honed for nothing less commanded he strike back, but his mind was sore and broken, crying for nothing less than total surrender. 

He gave in, arching his back into those touches. What choice did he have? 

The beast crooned against his hair, holding his naked body close, pulling him against the cold carapace of black armor the beast wore, with the furs of some other unfortunate beast on his shoulders like a mantle of victory. Felix didn't quite reciprocate, just let him do as he pleased. 

He felt the beast's scratch down his sternum, seeking to leave lasting marks, but the glove prevented his nails from ripping skin. Felix didn't know if he was grateful for that or not. He choked back his noises, not wanting to give him any ammunition, no longer having the wall to brace against. Finally, his other hand was released; it seemed the beast wanted to touch him with both.

Felix’s head fell back against the shoulder of the beast, head cradled by the white fur as thick fingers encircled his cock, stroking slow and rough. "My Felix," the beast whispered against his ear, threatening softness with his words, but accompanied by teeth, biting little by little, nearly piercing the cartilage. Felix winced, smearing the dot of blood that appeared against the teeth of the beast. "No, no, you'll never leave me again. Never get away. You are mine, Felix. You always have been."

He tightened his grip, and Felix felt his blood drawn towards the beast, towards his cock with abnormal quickness, until he was half-hard and straining under his touch. 

"Yes," Dimitri whispered to him, lapping at the broken skin of his ear with a tongue now dampened with lust. "Come back to me."

Felix reached down, gripping those gauntleted arms, half trying to push him away and half trying to pull him closer, at least hold him in place. His traitorous body would respond this quickly only to Dimitri, no one else. Even though Dimitri had never touched him like this before in the waking world, there were many dreams--many nightmares--where Dimitri had held him so close and had his way. And Felix's body responded then as it did now, encased in terror and longing that mingled like the smell of sweat and blood now staining the sour air between them. 

The beast paid him no mind. It didn't matter if Felix kicked and screamed; he would have his way. 

He claimed him every way he knew how. He pressed violent kisses to his shoulders and back, sucking until pink skin became dark as wine, dragging the sharp sighs from the man held prisoner in his arms. He could feel Felix growing warmer under his touch, but he could only tell by the feeling of his skin burning under his lips, as the rest of him was carefully protected by slim sheets of flexible metal.

His shell, which kept his blood from oozing out and spilling his body to the floor; _that_ remained. He'd not take that off for anything, for anyone. Often he slept in it too, waking up sweaty and _heavy,_ always heavy. No heavier, though, than his heart, no longer in his chest, but residing in the soles of his shoes as he marched on and on in the endless drudge of waking life, fearing attack at every turn. 

Carefully kept under the lock of his teeth, Felix moaned deep in his throat, but he never let it be known, never let it be heard. There was something disturbingly _right_ about this. About Dimitri still fully armored, letting Felix, completely bare and vulnerable, rut against his hands. Perhaps he was not human at all, Felix thought of himself as he buried his noises. After all, if Dimitri was a beast, what did that make him? Bucking up, rubbing his growing erection into the gloves Dimitri wore when taking so many lives…

He pressed a hand over his mouth and choked a whimper into his palm. Goddess, it felt so good to be touched this way. Wrapped in the paws of the beast he hated so much and loved so well. He wanted to flee, he wanted to stay trapped right here and never escape from the blackened cage of Dimitri's armor. 

He was milked, the beast suddenly tightening his grip again and tugging his cock painfully fast. Felix wasn't even aware how much he matched the rhythm, one hand clutching his own mouth shut, the other wrapped, trembling over Dimitri's arm. He was close, he was ashamed, but he was so close. 

"Let me hear you, Felix," the beast begged him, but he didn't even give him a chance to think about it. Felix gagged as his hand was pushed aside and Dimitri's fingers forced their way into his mouth, prying his jaw apart, pressing his tongue down. He couldn't keep silent now. He moaned around the gloved intrusions, feeling like his teeth might rattle out of his head. But the blinding rush only intensified this way, being held down, held open, held raw by the beast. 

He came with a choke of humiliation, painting the wall white with much more come than was normal. How long had he been holding back, Felix wondered lazily as his eyes rolled up to the ceiling, drooling with satisfaction over Dimitri's fingers.

"Yes, yes, Felix," Dimitri groaned, turning him around in his arms finally, hugging him, stroking his hair like a beloved pet. "I will never leave you wanting, like you left me."

Felix couldn't even muster the energy to squirm in his hold. "You're insane."

"Perhaps." He hummed against his throat, scraping his teeth there until Felix shivered. "But I will not forget the promises I made. Never."

Felix lay his cheek against the cold breastplate. He had nowhere else to lay his head. What promise was that? He couldn't recall if it involved him or not.

A sudden gasp slipped out over his tongue as he felt the press of Dimitri's knee, prying his thighs apart. The chill of armor against his chest was one thing, but between his legs…

"I promise I will never leave you," Dimitri was saying into the dizzying labyrinth of desire and repulsion that was Felix. He rubbed again, as if hoping to get Felix hard again so soon. To Felix’s great dismay, it worked. It _worked_ because he wanted Dimitri so badly that he was willing to be taken by a beast who merely _looked_ like him. The beast cradled Felix's head, crowded him against his chest while he teased him madly with just his knee and it _worked._

 _Am I really so depraved?_ Felix couldn't answer his own question. He knew he was. He knew his own darkness. He clung to Dimitri's shoulders and finally let himself whimper, a noise so weak and revealing that he hated himself for knowing how to make it. 

The beast responded well to that. "Do you like this, Felix?" he whispered into his messy hair, still tossed carelessly from sleep.

Felix didn't say yes, didn't nod or give any affirmative gesture to indicate he did, but one needed only to look at his body, flushed from his cheeks halfway down his chest, to know that he did. His lips were wet with spit, shining in the lantern light, and his eyes were burning the same way they did when he sought to devour a new skill he learned with the sword. 

"I think you do," Dimitri said, bending his neck lower to suck against the flesh of his chest, biting deep enough to draw more blood, deep enough to draw a hiss of pleasure from Felix, _his_ Felix.

It was too much, too much. Without quite knowing what possessed him, Felix bit down so savagely on Dimitri's ear that he drew more than merely a drop of blood. He very nearly ripped it off. Perhaps it was the remnants of the desire not to be used like this. To do such things on his own terms, with someone in their right mind, who wouldn't terrorize him and call him by his dead brother's name. 

All the good feelings rushed free of him as the beast returned, punching Felix into the wall with incredible force. He struck his head on the bricks, crumpled to his knees, gasping but taking no air in. He deserved it, didn't he?

"Is this truly what you wanted all along?" Dimitri was snarling at him, spitting, but Felix could only sway. Likely the pain was being numbed only by a mild concussion at this point. "If this is the way you want to be, fine," Dimitri was saying, accompanied by the ripping of his belt. "But you are mine either way, remember that. I will not be letting you go again. Never again."

Felix felt those same fingers hook against his cheek, tearing open his mouth. Still, he struggled, jerking his head back even as the strong hand pressed against his teeth, making it impossible to bite down or even close his jaw.

Felix could only hope it wasn't the violent part that had excited his King, because Dimitri was already fully hard and leaking when he shoved himself in Felix's mouth. He choked immediately, unprepared to take him like this, but Dimitri did not let up. Felix fought to relax the muscles of his throat, but it had been so long, he was having a hard time remembering how, especially in his panic. Only when he started actively coughing and gagging did Dimitri free him, pulling out just enough that his cock rested against Felix's lips.

The beast looked down, surveyed the face of his beloved Duke, teary-eyed and chin wet from drooling around his length. And the Duke looked up at his King, with one hollow eye and blood weeping down his yellow hair from his ear. 

Dimitri didn't let go of his jaw just yet.

"You still hate me so much," he whispered mournfully into the aether, as if Felix wasn't there to catch the words. 

"I will always hate you," Felix tried to snap back, but it came out scratchy and hoarse from the abuse of his throat, and a little slurred from the fingers pressed against the inside of his cheek. 

Dimitri shook his head. He didn't believe him. He petted him with his free hand, stroking his cheek and he watched Felix close his eyes, turn into the touch like a ship under the siege of a storm turns gratefully towards a lighthouse's beacon. 

"Then hate me," he said softly, and snapped his hips forward again.

This time, Felix was a little more ready. He coughed as Dimitri's cock struck the back of his throat, much bigger than he was used to accommodating, but he struggled a little less as he tried to remember how to do this. He was forced to stick his tongue out under the offending part so he could fit him entirely. Still, his eyes felt like they popped a bit out of his head, and they dampened to dispel the discomfort. Tears rolled over his cheeks, puffed out to hold him. 

"Mmm… You are so full with me," Dimitri said to him. These were words spoken softly as though between proper lovers, and Felix hated how he reacted to it, moaning just a little as Dimitri reached down, caressed his bulging throat. "Come on, don't make me remind you."

Felix felt a sob rip through his chest, but he didn't dare let Dimitri know. He took a moment to adjust, breathe through his nose as much as he could. Dimitri was so big, so fucking _thick_ that even his nasal passageways felt blocked. He tried to curl his tongue around his erection, but goddess, it was a losing battle. He'd never sucked off anyone this big, and he couldn't hope to compare it to past experiences. Still, there was something hopelessly erotic about the newness of it.

He tried to brace himself against Dimitri's knees, but his arms shook too badly for some reason. Still, he braced enough to push off, feeling the drag of the member slide over his throat and tongue and in response, Felix made the most undignified noise, like a half-strangled whine. He knew Dimitri was watching him, and he kept his eyes closed. Not that he was pretending it was someone else, per se. Just wondering why the hell he was enduring it for the beast.

It was even more wonderful when Dimitri pressed back in, Felix's eyes watering all the more as if the beast was trying to impale him. Gradually, as if his throat was beginning to be molded to the shape of him, it became easier to take him in; by then, it was hard to feel the loss of him when he pulled out, because Felix wanted, he _wanted_ to hear the King, hear Dimitri moan like that, wanted to feel more of the nails raking his scalp as he twisted his hair, yanking him tight. 

Felix sucked like a man drowned, a man drowned drinking the water which drowned him, hoping to die faster, hoping not to suffer. He wanted more. He wanted Dimitri to fuck him raw, he wanted to take him twice, to bleed because of no one else but him. He wanted to suck him deep into his lungs and keep him safe there. 

In no world would the words 'boar prince' be an expression of love, but it was here, in its own way, an expression of worry. Of care. _Act like a beast and you'll die like a beast._ It was always this way, cautionary. Felix even remembered the way their professor looked at them in the monastery when he told them, _watch out for the boar or he'll get himself killed._

He cried. If Dimitri noticed, he didn't say anything. Felix sucked in his cheeks and rubbed his tongue across the thick underside of his cock, along the vein he'd come to know was sensitive in every man, and thus, every beast. 

The hand in his hair tightened and jerked, yanking him this way and that, tilting him up ever so slightly so the beast could see the shine of his swollen red lips as Felix worked to please him, see the dampness of his cheeks as Felix wept softly. For what reason, Dimitri did not ask.

The beast deprived him of his fill, pulling free so quickly Felix coughed and sputtered, their bodies connected only by the hand that held the back of Felix’s head and the glistening string of saliva from the tip of his reddened cock to Felix's tongue. It was obscene, how Felix panted, opened his mouth wider, whimpered for more, to suck at him more, to taste him more. Felix knew how he must look, palming himself between shaking thighs, so close to release himself just from sucking off a beast. 

"I will never let you go, Felix," Dimitri whispered again, wrapping his hand around his cock and rubbing quickly, holding Felix's head back to aim properly. He looked down, his beloved Felix's lips parted and plump, spit-slick and wanting, his eyes glazed over, the amber in them completely melted to free whatever secrets Dimitri wanted to ply from them.

With a short snarl and a grunt, Dimitri released, fucking into his hand as he covered Felix's nose, his cheeks, his willing tongue with his love.

Felix closed his eyes as his face burned with the warmth of it, and shook badly as he, too, spent himself on the rug between Dimitri's boots. 

Never had he felt so low and so high. To come to the feeling of a beast bathing him in his own release… he was more than depraved. He was a beast himself. 

Dimitri crouched down and kissed him, and it was nothing like one might hope a first kiss would be, not sweet or soft. The beast bit his lip, he bit his tongue, he sucked them both and possessed Felix until he couldn't breathe and fell back against the wall, panting for breath. 

"You belong to me."

And Felix wanted to. 


	3. Mirrored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boar.
> 
> Dimitri trembled as he imagined that voice. He could just see him, over his shoulder, those hateful eyes, that contemptuous sneer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine gives me tons of time. At this rate, might be updating like... three times a week.
> 
> For fic updates and (sometimes) art, you can follow me @Mechanist_Macha

“Harder.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The sound of skin slapping skin filled Dimitri’s ears but it could not drown out the sound of Felix’s scathing tongue.

_ I will always hate you. _

Dimitri tried to swallow, but his throat was completely dry. He buried his face deeper into the pillow, though he knew he did not deserve its softness. “Dedue,  _ harder.”  _ Even muffled, Dedue couldn’t mistake his words.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

That’s all he ever said. It was not enough, it was never enough. He was on his knees, legs spread wide to give Dedue all the access he could require, and it  _ still  _ wasn’t enough. No matter how he’d beg and plead, there were some things his loyal friend and vassal just wouldn’t do, and Dimitri had no one to do it for him. Who could he ask to insult the King of Faerghus? Hold him down and call him the worthless beast he knew he was? Who could he go to and beg to be struck for all he’d done? No one would have the courage, even at the King’s orders.

No one but Felix.

But Dimitri couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever. Not after what he’d done.

Dimitri tried his best to enjoy Dedue, the man splitting him wide with a cock like a damned spear, even bigger than his. But Dedue would not hurt him, and Dimitri couldn’t enjoy his tenderness. He wouldn’t allow himself to.

Dedue knew he wasn’t enough. He knew what Dimitri desired, and it pained him to think he couldn’t provide it for him. But insulting him, truly hurting him… these were things Dedue refused to do. He watched the back of the King’s blonde head carefully for signs of distress, even knowing he would likely  _ beg _ for distressing things to happen to him.

When Dimitri finally went still, Dedue stopped. He took the King’s hips and gently pulled himself free of his body, turning him over. Dimitri looked dully past his shoulder, his eyepatch long untethered from his face, probably tangled in the sheets. Dimitri’s cock wept just a bit onto his stomach, hard and red, but the stimulation was only physical. Dimitri’s one eye was glassy and unfeeling.

“Why did you stop? I did not order you to stop.”

There was no emotion in his voice, not even anger, which Dedue would have preferred to nothingness. “My apologies, Your Majesty. You did not seem to be enjoying it.”

Dimitri let out an irritated puff of breath and turned his head to the side, looking away. He couldn’t exactly fault him for speaking the truth. He wasn’t enjoying it at all. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to bleed and be insulted. He wanted to pay for what he’d done to Felix.

“I am sorry, Dedue. It… it isn’t you.”

“I know.” Dedue watched Dimitri sling his arm over his eye, hiding from the world. He didn’t know what to do in times like these, when the King was hurting so much and he couldn’t give him what he needed. That was why he had called his friends. “Dimitri,” he said, sudden and soft, using his name. That usually got him to listen. The King didn’t look at him. “Perhaps you would feel better if you simply apologized.”

“Apologize?” Dimitri barked with laughter, but there was no mirth to it at all. “Apologize, Dedue? To  _ Felix? _ Your sense of humor has grown, my friend.”

Dedue sighed. “What is the alternative? You are not happy. You are attempting to punish yourself for what you’ve done and it isn’t working.”

Dimitri wanted to smack him, shake some sense into Dedue, but he’d never done so before and he wouldn’t now. Never. Not Dedue. “There’s nothing to be done,” he whispered helplessly. “Felix will not see me. I am surprised he hasn’t left.”

Dedue tried his hardest not to flinch. He knew that Felix would have left if he could. He supposed he should be grateful Felix didn’t tell Dimitri the truth, that Dedue was essentially holding them all captive in the castle.

“Enough,” Dimitri sighed, sitting up. The dawning light had pinkened the sky. He was King. He couldn’t lay abed any longer. “Shall I suck you off, Dedue?” he offered.

Dedue shook his head. “There is no need, Your Majesty. I will take care of myself.” He considered offering to take care of Dimitri too, but he knew he would refuse.

Dimitri stumbled to the bathroom. It had been a while since he’d been fucked so hard, but it didn’t help. It didn’t erase his sins. Only Felix could do that. Perhaps not even Felix could erase them all.

He stood before the mirror. What a sorry sight, his body flush and weak from Dedue’s treatment, but still, he was hard. He had half a mind to leave himself this way, until he was aching from the pain.

_ Boar. _

Dimitri trembled as he imagined that voice. He could just see him, over his shoulder, those hateful eyes, that contemptuous sneer.

_ Beast. _

Dimitri whimpered, braced himself on the mirror, suddenly shaking as he wrapped his hand over his cock, now throbbing with the excitement that was lacking with Dedue.

_ You’re insane. _

Yes, yes, he was insane. He was insane and everyone was too kind or too frightened to say so to him. Everyone but Felix. Felix did not hold back with him. He was always truthful. Suddenly, Dimitri’s hand, stroking himself faster, was not enough. Suddenly, he wished Dedue were still fucking him. With a whimper, he let himself fall against the mirror, holding himself up by his cheek and shoulders, one hand rubbing furiously at his leaking arousal, the other reaching back and thrusting three fingers against the stretched rim of his entrance. The muscle there was already loosened by Dedue’s careful ministrations (something which Dimitri wished he’d be far less careful with), but three of his own fingers was still a stretch and he gasped, letting the cool touch of the mirror soothe the heat of his face.

_ I will always hate you. _

Yes, yes, he wanted to hear those words. He deserved them, every loathing syllable. He fucked harder into himself as best as he could reach, suddenly blinded with pleasure when Dedue could not even make him wince. As he squeezed himself, he begun to shake more violently, imagining it was Felix, Felix doing this to him, fucking him--not with himself, Dimitri didn’t deserve that. With some object, he thought, something painful. He imagined Felix thrusting it into him dry with no preparation and why did that make him moan so loud he fogged up the mirror?

Old memories came through now, seeped in through the cracks of his sanity.

_ Stop walking around on your hind legs. _

Dimitri felt himself spurt wet against the mirror’s surface, but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t. He chased the memory of that sharp face with his bliss, begging Felix to come back.

_ Looking at your face is making me nauseous.  _

Yes, yes, so close, so close…

_ Now everyone knows what you really are. _

Dimitri half-screamed with pleasure as he accidentally brushed against his prostate, bucking wildly back and forth against both of his hands, milking his cock until he came so hard against the glass that it ached. Weakly, he tugged a few more times until he was sure he’d emptied himself, sliding down to the floor on his knees. He wept, knowing himself so sick and so  _ maddened  _ that he would fuck himself so hard to Felix’s insults.

But even if there was no excuse, and even if he felt guilty, he knew he’d be thinking about it all day. And, willingly accepting his own depravity, his own madness, he licked his own release off the mirror, pretending it was Felix’s instead.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Where’s Felix?” Mercedes asked sweetly at breakfast.

Sylvain shrugged. “I went to his door and he told me to fuck off. If he’s not training his ass off, he’s probably sick or something.”

“Oh no… Annie, we should bake him something.”

Annette, mouth full of eggs, spoke anyway. “Mmm… but he doesn’t like sweets.”

Dimitri listened to them, head hung low in shame, not touching his food, just moving it around on the plate with his fork.

Ashe leaned forward. “Are you okay, Your Majesty? You look pale…”

Now everyone’s attention was on him again. Dimitri jerked his head up, wondering how it was possible that Felix hadn’t told them all what he’d done. But perhaps he was too proud. “Forgive me, I am just a little bit tired.”

They cooed and fussed over him. Dimitri wanted to be grateful for their care, but instead he wished they would just leave him alone. He couldn’t enjoy their company after last night; and this morning too. Why were they all here, all of the sudden anyway? Was this something they had planned, all coming at once? And why, after two long years of not seeing them once?

He couldn’t very well tell them to leave. He was King, so he’d be busy all day anyway.

“If you have some free time, Your Majesty… would you consider sparring with me?” Ashe asked, leaning forward, his pale, freckled face shining hopefully. “I was hoping to hone my lancing skills.”

Ingrid nodded. “That’s a great idea, Ashe. I’ll come too.”

“Guess I might as well,” Sylvain chimed in with a sigh, as if he didn’t want to, but everyone at the table knew he was making his own designs on His Majesty. Sylvain would fuck anyone if it meant getting out of his responsibilities. Honestly, he’d just fuck anyone period, and he’d been yapping about getting his paws on the king since he got here anyway.

Dimitri couldn’t very well turn them down, not when they all looked so eager.

_ Why do you suddenly want to spend time with me now?  _ That was what he wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare. They might vanish again, and he really was grateful they were here. It kept the ghosts at bay… for a little while.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Ashe was absolutely peerless with a bow. He was one of the finest (if not  _ the  _ finest) archers in all the Kingdom, and Dimitri smiled, impressed as he watched him warm up, striking the center of each target with arrow after arrow. Even the moving targets. He had been essential in the war, and Dimitri showered him with praise for it now, because he’d been too crazed back then to notice.

Ashe was blushing so hard at praise from the King. “Oh, please… I-it’s not all that hard, Your Majesty…” But he was glowing with happiness, Dimitri could see that. His face was like that of an angel’s, so innocent and shining. Ah, if only he’d had the chance to see that face more two years ago. But he was blinded by his hatred back then.

“Nonsense,” Dimitri said, smiling just faintly. “Every time I pull back a bowstring, I break it.”

With a lance, though, Ashe was the weakest of the four of them. He could hold his own in a fight with one, but he still held it a bit clumsily, something Dimitri hurried to correct. If he could keep one of his dearest friends from perishing in a battle, he would absolutely take the chance.

“Your form is too small, too tight. With a bow, it may not matter, but with a lance, your balance must be perfect.” He circled Ashe in his arms and showed him just how to hold the staff, gently spreading his hands apart to get the proper position. He reached down to coax his knees apart too, trying to show him the perfect stance. By the time he stood up to survey his handiwork, Ashe was flushed pink all the way up to his eartips.

“Th-thank you, Y-Your Majesty! I… I-I’ll work hard!”

Ah. Dimitri hadn’t meant to touch him quite so intimately. Ashe was sensitive, and he didn’t deserve Dimitri’s brutal treatment. He gave him a soft smile, but that seemed to make his stammering worse, until across the yard, Sylvain was hooting at both of them, teasing.

Dimitri moved back to his own practice lance to do his own routine, but he couldn’t fail to notice how Ashe’s eyes lingered on his body.

_ No,  _ he wanted to tell him, his heart sinking.  _ Look away. You don’t know what I really am. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When the final sunlight slipped away across the castle stones, bathing everything in the grey of night, Dimitri paced his room. He tore at his hair, he rent his nightclothes with his nails. He felt naked without his armor, but Dedue had taken it away to polish. He shook and gasped and begged the ghosts to leave him be. They laughed and spit and pulled him this way and that, until he was shivering on his knees, crying out for mercy.

And there was an intruding noise, but even though he reached for it, he couldn’t quite get there. Glenn and Patricia, Rodrigue and Lambert and Edelgard, they tore at him with their catching claws. He whimpered, trying to push them away, flailing in misery. Why wouldn’t he bleed? Why wouldn’t he just  _ die? _

The knocking was louder this time and Dimitri stuttered, ripping back to reality all at once. For one stupid,  _ stupid _ moment, he thought it might be Felix. He threw the ghosts away from him and rushed to open the door, yanking it harshly, almost off its hinges, startling the intruder.

It was Ashe.

  
  



	4. Names and Nighttime Archery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another late night visitor, and this one is more breakable than Felix is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many wips right now and my brain is too scattered to keep up with them all. But I hate leaving works unfinished, so they'll all get done eventually!
> 
> For fic updates and (sometimes) art, you can follow me @Mechanist_Macha

“Y-Your Majesty! I heard shouting… I thought maybe you were in some sort of trouble.”

No, no, no, Ashe couldn’t be here. Couldn’t see him when he was like this, so pressed into his horrid fantasies that he could see the ghosts standing next to Ashe as clearly as if they were as real and alive as he was. “Ashe…” he said hoarsely, having very little else to say other than acknowledging him. If Ashe knew anything about how he had called Felix by his brother and father’s names, Ashe might have been honored that his King could truly see him for what he was. But his bright eyes just widened a bit.

“Your Majesty?”

Dimitri shook his head like a dog, trying to will the image of Ashe away. Surely he was an imprint, left behind from lingering regret of seeing the way he reacted to him on the training ground. “You do not belong here.”

Ashe’s face fell so instantly, it was as if Dimitri had struck him. “I-I know… I only… I only w-wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Dimitri blinked wearily, still unsure if this was an illusion or not. “Me?” How could anyone ever think he was all right?

“Your Majesty!” Ashe interrupted, alarming even Dimitri, who froze in shock, as if he were about to profess that he could see them too, see Patricia and Glenn and Edelgard. “You’re bleeding!”

Dimitri frowned and looked down at himself. Indeed, through his cotton nightshirt, there was a little bit of blood seeping through. But that was normal, something Dedue normally took care of in the morning. He was often scratching himself at night, clawing at his chest and face to alleviate the pressure not to just leap from his balcony. It was why wearing his armor was so essential for him. Even he could not claw his way through that.

“It is nothing,” he told him dully.

Ashe wouldn’t hear it. “It’s not nothing, Your Majesty!” He bulled his way into his room, a tiny force of nature showered with freckles. “Please, let me look at it!”

Dimitri just looked down at him in glazed acceptance. “As you like,” he replied. 

It was strange, Dimitri thought. Standing in his own room, undressed as Ashe fretted over wounds he reopened nightly. He wondered what Ashe would say if he knew that for the past two years (truthfully, the past seven), every night was just like this one. It was nothing new, merely routine. A bitterness crept under his tongue. Would Ashe have run to him then, if he knew? Or would he have stayed away as the rest of them had?

Ashe considered taking the King to Mercedes. She could heal these scratches up in no time. But selfishly, he wanted this, to be alone in his room with him, to be the one who comforted his King. “Your Majesty, how did this happen?”

Dimitri didn’t answer, dared not answer.

Ashe peeked up at him, to where Dimitri’s messy bangs were all that covered the place where his left eye had once been. He always wore his eyepatch in public and Ashe had never seen the web of awful white scars underneath. A part of Ashe wanted to touch that hollow dip of skin, that empty pocket. Yet another part wanted to turn away.

“I always carry a few bandages,” Ashe offered in the gloom of the King’s chambers, as if he could feel the ghosts that hung around. “Would you… permit me to patch you up, Your Majesty?”

“Why do you always call me that?” Dimitri asked, suddenly almost visceral. Ashe jumped back. “Even Dedue sometimes calls me by name, but you never do. Am I so frightening?” he demanded, making him appear frightening indeed. Once, Ashe had been his friend. At the Academy, Ashe had even worked up the courage to ask to train with him. It got to the point, before Edelgard betrayed them all, that Ashe stopped talking about the yawning gap between royalty and commoner.

But now, it seemed, something else stood between them.

Ashe hung his head, and even with one eye, Dimitri could see each fiber of his silvery hair in the moonlight, as if every bit of Ashe was a detail he had forgotten to memorize so long ago, even when he remembered his name now.

“You’re the King,” Ashe offered.

Dimitri would not accept such a response. He turned away, a noise of pain and anger escaping his lips.

Ashe’s little shoulders dropped. Even though he’d grown into himself, he was still so, so small. Everyone but Dedue felt small to Dimitri. Even Sylvain, who was scarcely an inch shorter than he was. “You know how I have longed to be your knight,” Ashe whispered then, recapturing his attention just before Edelgard sank her claws into him again. “I know I’m not quite there yet. That’s why I’ve been… working on my lancing skills. I only… I only want to show you proper respect. N-not as a commoner, but as a future knight,” he tried to appease, as Ashe was always doing to him, as everyone was always doing to him.

Dimitri was not satisfied. “Felix and Sylvain are knights. They speak my name.”

“But they were your friends! They grew up with you!”

“As did you,” Dimitri pointed out. “So yet again, the only difference is that you feel you are not worthy of my presence, even when I have told you so often that there are things I have learned, that I have gained from you…”

No, no, he couldn’t get angry, not now, not during the night when there was no one around to keep him at bay.

Ashe was now staring at his feet. “I would give you anything you asked for,” he said with the suddenness of having stepped into an entirely different conversation. His silver crown was so soft in the moon’s light, so soft. “If you truly want it, I… I will call you Dimitri.”

The name on Ashe’s lips stoked an unfamiliar fire within Dimitri, a stirring of the past, when he had begged and begged Ashe to call him by name at the Academy. A wave of nostalgia, so jarring and foreign, washed over the King, bathing him in a strange persuasion, and washing away the remnants of the ghosts for the night.

“What?” was his eloquent answer, through hissing teeth, through a plaintive blue eye.

Ashe looked up, the freckles each a star to an unknown constellation. “D-Dimitri… is that okay? C-calling you that, I-I thought you wanted…”

Dimitri’s arms clamped over Ashe’s back so tightly that he made a little squeak like a mouse caught in a trap. For so, so long the words Your Highness and Your Majesty just felt like another way of calling him what he was. A beast. Someone to fear. Someone who, with a sweep of his paw might have someone executed; whether by law or by his own lance, it made little difference. 

But being called by his name was like forgiveness. Forgiveness for all that he’d done, acknowledging him worthy of personhood, of a name again, even after prowling the surface of the world as little more than a killing machine, hungry for blood.

Ashe was a savior. Ashe was the merciful executioner, who lifted his axe and then decided not to let it fall. Ashe, this gentle soul who would forgive him any trespass, Ashe who was not like Felix at all, would not hate him, indeed could not hate him. Ashe, who was not Dedue, who quietly condoned his every action no matter what flesh he tore, no matter the wretched corpses he crawled over on his belly--

\--Ashe who could only assume Dimitri was happy since he was giving him what could pass for a very, very strong hug. “D-Dimitri… y-you’re still bleeding…”

And at that, Dimitri wrenched away, not wanting to stain this shining saint with the blood of a beast. “Please--forgive me,” he rasped, unsure of where his voice had gone just then. But his mind, his mind was blessedly his own. For the moment, Ashe had brought the lantern that banished the fog. He stepped back, looking with dismay even upon the little dash of blood on Ashe’s own nightclothes.

“No forgiveness necessary!” And just as though he had not just bowed his head, humbled and depressed, he was bright once more, the lantern refilled. With what oil, Dimitri could not guess. He was certain it could not be his presence, brooding and dangerous as he was. “Just let me run back to my room for the bandages…”

He really should say no. That Ashe should just return to his room and stay there. That he was too savage to be around someone like him. Felix was one thing, sharp and capable, but Ashe was not a confident person. Not without the love and cherishment of his fellows. He could break him so easily, with an unkind word or a too-firm touch. He really should say no.

Instead, he grabbed his wrist.

A man reaching--no--a beast wading through the hellish moors, afraid and alone, seizing his only source of light and warmth.

“Please,” he begged. “Don’t go.”

Felix would have thrown him. Felix would have smacked him, pushed him, spat at him. But Ashe returned, like a beacon that did not lay bare his faults but bathed them in moonlight.

“Of course,” he said softly, and he was a little confused, but he didn’t seem afraid of the hand that held his wrist, the hand that was much larger than his, that could wrap over his throat with ease and squeeze the breath from his chest until he struggled no more. Ashe was not afraid. “I won’t leave you, Your Ma--Dimitri,” he said quickly. “But I should patch you up all the same. So will you come with me?”

He asked so earnestly, Dimitri could hardly refuse.

The halls were worse than the safety of his bedroom. Whereas the room was his cave, his lair, wandering the empty halls at night was like being back there, roaming Garreg Mach, seeking the blood of Imperial soldiers by scent alone, like a wolf who lurked the bark-covered halls of a forest for prey. Only the wolf hunted for meat. Dimitri had hunted for the pleasure of the warm death on his hands, stuck under his nails, and seeping into his coat and onto his skin like a bath.

But when Ashe held his hand like this, reversed Dimitri’s hold on his wrist and interlocking their fingers, Dimitri felt--not worthy of the gentle touch, but he accepted it.

There was something familiar about sitting on this bed. Not the bed exactly (it wasn’t like he’d tested all the beds in the castle), but sitting like this on the corner of a room where Ashe slept. Like his days at the Academy. Ashe had helped patch him up after the first time he’d tried to teach Mercedes how to wield a sword and nearly skewered him.

And there weren’t so many differences, were there? Perhaps a seven-year-gap, a few mental breakdowns, and a gruesome war weren’t enough to build a wall between himself and those memories. He could even feel them now, as if his body remembered, Ashe’s gentle fingers, so worn down by the tightness of a drawn bowstring, somehow still soft as if he radiated that softness from within.

And even though he parted it differently, his hair was still the same, still that sliver of moonlight just under his chin…

“Um… Y-Your Majesty?”

Dimitri stirred himself, lifting his head from nuzzling in Ashe’s hair. “Goddess, I… I am sorry, Ashe…” He pulled away too quickly, all the sudden a frightened animal.

“It--it’s okay,” Ashe whispered, and now even his voice was like the moon, bright and hopeful like the moon when she is full.

What had he been doing? Was he just tired? How odd. He didn’t normally fall asleep, didn’t normally doze off with such ease. But Ashe’s hair had been like the feeling of a downy cloud, and before he’d realized it, Dimitri’s cheek descended and he had lain atop his head for a blissful moment of actual, tender unconsciousness.

Ashe gently pressed his palm against the winding bandage around the King’s chest. “There,” he smiled, proud of his work. “It isn’t white magic, but a few herbs and some bandages can really do the trick just as well! Perhaps a little slower, but.” He shrugged, and he was happy, he was sweet, he was happy wasn’t he?

“Ashe, why did you abandon me?”

The moonlight became moonshadow as the smile was eclipsed from Ashe’s sweet face.

“Your Majesty…” The green meadow of his eyes turned away, just like back then; Dimitri wasn’t privileged enough to bask there. “I… I f-felt there was no choice… Claude wanted to help, w-wanted to help you be rid of Edelgard and I thought…”

He trailed off. No answer was right, and even Ashe was not naive enough to ignore it. But Dimitri would not hurt him. No. With Ashe here, even if the moonlight was gone from his path, he still held the lantern.

“I see.” And he did. He understood. He was clear enough to know that it was impossible to have helped him back then. Back then when he led countless men and women to their deaths for the sake of his revenge. Men and women who would have gladly marched behind his banner to their graves, even if he was not the King--not the man they hoped he would be. “It’s all right. I don’t know why I asked.”

What had he really expected, anyway?

Ashe swallowed. Could he truly ever call himself the King’s Knight after he had left him? He hadn’t known he’d be executed. He hadn’t known Cornelia was involved. He only hoped that with Edelgard gone, Dimitri would come back to himself. Be the man they all knew and loved again.

“I was always going to come back, Your Majesty.” Dimitri flinched away from those words but, emboldened by all the touch he had been allowed, Ashe shifted closer on the bed, hoping to coax him to look back. “Dimitri,” he offered instead.

He looked back. By some miracle, he looked back.

Ashe looked for a moment at the patched webbing of white across where his left eye had once been, and he remembered the last time he had looked into both of Dimitri’s eyes, on the Monastery ramparts. Ashe had been assigned a ballista because of his aim and accuracy. Dimitri had bolted by, painted red with blood, and bearing what looked distinctly like someone’s flesh in his teeth. Ashe remembered being too terrified then to call out, but Dimitri looked at him anyway. Looked in passing, and Ashe wanted to know, demanded of the Goddess or the universe or whatever, what would have happened if he had stopped him that day.

But the universe provided no answers. Even if he searched and searched, Ashe could never turn back time.

“Please believe me,” Ashe swallowed, letting his hand dare reach, to adjust a bandage on his King’s chest. “I came back.”

“I believe you.” And by some miracle, it was true. Ashe might have been two years--seven years too late, but he had returned. Returned to what, well…

He captured that hand in his own, so small and slender, bringing it to his lips because he could think of nothing more tender than this, he could think of nothing to display his gratitude more. Felix had come back, and he had tortured him for it, but he was not going to do the same here. Not to Ashe.

“It is… good that you left,” he confessed, mumbling against Ashe’s knuckles. “Otherwise, I would have lost you.” And how many lanterns could he afford to snuff out before even the moon’s light was gone?

“No,” Ashe said firmly, shaking his head. “It was the cowardly thing to do. I should have stood and fought loyally by your side! Not a day goes by that I don’t regret--”

“That’s enough, Ashe,” And Dimitri’s voice was not harsh, but hopeful, full of a promise that bloomed in his chest, just under the bandages, just under Ashe’s touch. “We are both here, we are both alive. Let that settle the matter.” He could not say they were both safe, but for now, he was assured his words were true.

No ghost had ever tried to bandage his wounds.

“I…” Ashe dropped his head, his own chin on his chest, despairing. “It’s as you say, Your… Dimitri.”

He watched the King press his hand to his lips and knew just how perverse it was to imagine more. His King, whom he had a duty to protect, knighted or not, should not be doing this for a commoner like himself. He should be the only kissing his hand, on his knees, offering his life in swearing fealty to him. And one day, perhaps he would let him.

“Di...mitri?”

“Did you come back because you wished to be my knight?” the King asked, his smile a bit soft, a bit teasing, like it was sometimes during the day. “Your heart is truer than my own. You never wavered in your loyalty to Faerghus--no--to the people of Fódlan. You never turned towards darkness, Ashe.”

“Dimitri--”

“Perhaps it is I who should ask to become your knight.”

Ashe’s gasp was indignant, horrified, even angry. And it was truly cute, Dimitri realized, the way his lantern flared in distress.

“Your Majesty!” he burst, scrambling to reassure him. “To even suggest such a thing! You are the King, you are a good man, you--”

Dimitri interrupted him again because he couldn’t stomach anyone calling him a good man after all the things he’d done. Even Dedue would not go so far as to suggest it, even if it was in his private thoughts. “Ashe, may I stay with you tonight?” he asked. He wanted to try out this theory, see if Ashe was truly the medicine he needed to sleep without fits, without ghosts.

He wondered that he’d be capable of letting Ashe go if it were true.

And even though Ashe had brought the King--his King--to his room to bandage his wounds and keep him to himself at least a little, he’d never have expected that. He blushed furiously, but he nodded just as furiously too. “Of course! Th-this is your castle, after all!”

It is my cage, Dimitri wanted to say.

Ashe had no idea what was expected of him. He watched his King lay in his bed, considerably smaller than Dimitri’s own, and had no idea where he was expected to sleep. It seemed inappropriate to crawl into bed beside him and be sheltered by the hulking form of Dimitri’s arms, no matter how much he longed to (the sensation of his hands on Ashe’s body on the training grounds could not be swept from his mind). The floor wouldn’t be very comfortable at all, rug or no. So he took to the comfortable desk chair. He wondered how much he’d be able to sleep anyway.

But as soon as he sat, he saw, in the light of the window, Dimitri lift his head and stare at him plaintively. “Ashe… I did not want to take your bed from you.”

“What? Oh! Oh, it’s no trouble! I was thinking I might finish up some of these letters--”

“Is the thought of being near me so repulsive?”

At that, Ashe leapt up and nearly tripped over himself to get to the bed. “Your Majesty--Dimitri, no! Of course not! I d-didn’t want to presume…”

Dimitri lifted the blanket for him, and that was that.

Ashe could feel the King’s warm breath against his neck as he lay there, pretending to sleep, but awake to the sound of his own hammering heart. They were so close, bodies pressed together in the way only a bed this size could allow. Ashe had shared tents with many during the war, bundled even tighter than this, but never once did his blood run so hot as it did now.

His eyes were squeezed firmly shut though, because he was pretending to sleep. Or maybe he was worried this was a dream. His thoughts raced, fighting for clarity in the forefront of his mind. He remembered once when Dimitri had tricked him into telling his favorite sweet just so he could buy some for him. What an odd thing to remember, all of the sudden. But he had been so unfailingly kind. Never once had he treated Ashe as inferior to him--

He stopped. No, no, that wasn’t true. At Gronder, the beast had raged, barking commands and snarling orders, sending them all to die--

Ashe stopped abruptly, his eyes flew open. Dimitri had shifted in the bed behind him and slowly, more than the weight of the blanket was draped over Ashe. He shivered, because this was all he’d ever wanted, but remembering Gronder Field had brought a note of fear into the desire as well, and he couldn’t decide which was more pressing at the moment. The King’s arm was around his waist, curled up over Ashe’s chest, and it dwarfed him, just his arm.

It was exhilarating--fear or desire, it didn’t matter.

But before Ashe could get fully used to that sensation, the heated breath on his cheek intensified; Dimitri had pressed closer, closer, and now he was fully spooned around Ashe, like a protective mother wolf. His head lay on the pillow, nestled behind Ashe’s shoulder and his lips, still cracked and dry, brushed softly over the nape of his neck, the King’s noble nose nuzzled against the silver of his hair. His grip tightened, dragging Ashe close until they were like one body, Dimitri’s warm chest aligned with Ashe’s back.

The hammering of Ashe’s heart became the drums of war. What was happening? Why was Dimitri holding him so close, so tight, as if he might leave? Why did he feel that telltale flush spreading from his cheeks to his collarbone under his nightclothes… why now? He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t let Dimitri know--

“Y-Your Majesty?” He wished his voice didn’t sound like such a squeak in that moment. He knew he wasn’t the most imposing figure, but still.

Only a ragged, rumbling breathing greeted his question. Dimitri was asleep.

Ashe relaxed, because if Dimitri was asleep, then he could enjoy this without guilt. Well, he would still feel guilty, but no one else had to know.

Trying not to wake him, Ashe nestled even closer, wriggling slowly like a patient worm until he was absolutely wrapped by Dimitri’s body. He felt it, the stirring between his thighs as he swallowed, trying to pretend this was just another of his dreams that he could indulge in, and not clear, terrifying reality. He bit his lip, pressing a trembling hand between his legs to stem the pooling heat.

He shouldn’t… It was wrong. It was disgusting and uncouth, to think of one’s King this way, especially one whom he wanted to serve as a knight, do battle for him, protect his Kingdom, his people, and get down on his knees before his throne--

Oh no, no. 

He barely managed to muffle a groan as he squeezed the growing bulge in his breeches. Well, that was certainly a dangerous image, one he’d had several times. That he was kneeling before the King of Faerghus, bowing his head to receive his blessing of knighthood, feeling the blade touch his shoulders and then cut through the cloth of his tunic, laying him bare before his King and master, who would approach him, lift his chin with the tip of the sword, reach for his belt--

Ashe’s eyes flew open again. His breathing had become too harsh, the movements of his hand too quick. Dimitri moved, like a great bear awaking, stirred in his cave. Ashe fought himself, wrestled the breath back into his lungs. He had forgotten himself. He had been too bold, and now he could only hope Dimitri was still--

“Ashe?”

And Ashe never swore but fuck.

“Your Majesty?” he squeaked back, terrified.

“You’re warm… feverish,” Dimitri said, clear concern in his voice, a voice that brushed against his ear and didn’t help quiet his arousal.

“What? O-oh! I, uh… I a-always get like that w-when I sleep! Don’t worry about it!”

Dimitri may be a little oblivious, but he was not a fool. He pulled away from Ashe and sat upright, pawing the sleep from his eyes. It had only been an hour or so; still, that was the most restful nap he’d ever had. Sleeping next to Ashe was, indeed, like a magic charm. He wondered what made him that way. Not a single nightmare had burrowed holes in his brain.

He looked down at Ashe, who had curled up on himself and was trembling like a leaf. “Ashe?” A sudden fear struck him. By the Goddess, no… No, surely he hadn’t hurt him? “Ashe, look at me!” he commanded, voice suddenly like thunder as he took the archer’s shoulder and thrust backwards, forcing him onto his back.

Ashe stared up, terrified, humbled, trying to squeeze his legs together, but even with one eye, Dimitri could see his distress.

“Ah…” Dimitri quickly let go. “Ashe, I’m sorry, I thought…”

“Your Majesty…” Ashe’s green eyes filled and his freckles were washed away by tears. He didn’t deserve to be his knight. He didn’t deserve to lay beside his King, thinking impure and devious thoughts like this. He wanted to run far, far away, but where would he even go? And Dedue was holding them here for a couple more days at least. “I-I’m so sorry… I…” What could he even say?

Dimitri awkwardly pulled away. How clumsy and reckless of him, to force himself into the bed of a friend and then make them cry over something so normal?

“Ashe, it’s all right. I’m sorry--I will give you privacy.”

And why was that worse? Why did the gentle words crush Ashe’s soul so, so much? The King had come to him, begging to stay the night, begging to be called by his name, and now Ashe felt like he was forcing him out. Maybe he could just…

“D-Dimitri! Don’t go!” he begged, shooting upright and seizing his arm. It was incredibly uncomfortable, given his body’s state. “I’m sorry, I’ll just… I’ll be right back, you can stay!”

Dimitri looked around, puzzled. It was cute, Ashe dared to think, his rushing blood clouding his judgment, the way Dimitri had to turn his whole head to see him with just one eye. He’d never dare say it though. “Ashe, this is your room. Stay. I assure you I can find my way back to my own bed.” And that was a surprisingly true statement. Whatever ghosts had come to him that night, Ashe seemed to have somewhat banished them.

“Please don’t go,” Ashe swallowed, ducking his head. “I… I want you to stay.”

That hadn’t been what he meant, he had only meant to sleep beside him, but Dimitri turned utterly red, seeing a different meaning. And Ashe didn’t have the heart to correct him--mostly because there was nothing to correct. Perhaps that had been what he meant after all.

“Ashe, I… I didn’t realize you felt that way.” A vicious lie. He’d seen the way Ashe looked at him on the training grounds. He could even remember the way he’d looked at him in school. But he’d hoped it would just go away. He was too cruel for someone so soft. He had wanted to sleep beside him, nothing more, his silver sleeping charm. “But I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”

He moved to stand. Ashe panicked. In the ensuing movement, Dimitri found himself wholly unmoved (because Ashe was probably not half his weight and not a quarter his strength) as Ashe flung himself against him, his arms wrapped over his neck. Ashe was small, but having been an archer all his life, his grip was strong. And something about the way his lips molded against Dimitri’s was comforting, the King hated to admit. He hadn’t thought he’d ever look at Ashe that way, and Ashe certainly didn’t deserve his wickedness, but he was here and he was warm and Dimitri didn’t want to be alone.

Still, he tried to warn him. He tried to be good. He turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss, even though his hands were cupped around his tiny waist. “Ashe… please.” His voice was so hoarse. “I’m not. I’m not whole, you know that.”

Ashe did. He didn’t care.

“I know, I’m sorry…” Ashe whispered, but his arms tightened hopefully. “But… please, if… If I can serve you like this, then I want to.”

“Ashe, I would never ask--”

“I know, I know!” Ashe shook his head fretfully. “But I… W-well I just… I’m saying, only push me away if you don’t want the same,” he pleaded, having absolutely no idea where this courage was coming from. It was definitely his body talking, not his brain, he knew that much. “Please, Your--Dimitri… please.”

It was such a relief, hearing his name over Ashe’s lips. He’d said it a few times that night, and every time rested Dimitri’s soul a little more. Could he really say no? Could he really resist the warmth of another person? Felix never held onto him like this, never begged for him to stay. Dimitri knew he’d have to hold the Duke captive if he wanted anything from him. But here was Ashe, so willing, begging even… And Dimitri had used him for his prowess, for his calming ability. Wasn’t it only fair to reciprocate?

“If… that is what you want,” he said slowly, searching Ashe’s freckled face, seeking second thoughts, doubts, and finding none.

Ashe pounced before the dream ended. He had to make the most of it. He had no choice but to pretend this was one of his dreams, or he’d lose his nerve, but it was a thousand times better, feeling Dimitri’s warm body against his own. He longed for skin to skin contact; he tugged at Dimitri’s nightshirt.

“Then… may I?” he whispered. Dimitri just nodded as he helped him, pulling off his shirt roughly. Ashe couldn’t help but admire the strange grace of his movements, with all the lithe power of a predator cat. Just like a lion, he thought fondly of the symbol of his Kingdom. Even the many scars and ugly white gnarls of skin did not deter him, nor would the pinkened bandages Ashe had just patched him with. He’d wanted to worship him this way for so long that he couldn’t even wait. He kissed Dimitri’s shoulder, still standing on the bed.

Dimitri didn’t have any clue how to proceed. Not with Ashe. His hands found his way to Ashe’s hips, both steadying him and feeling just how small he was. He twitched as the warmth of Ashe’s lips found and exploited the sensitivity of the scars across his muscle. He closed his eye. There was… something so nice about the willingness. Ashe would never lie, not like Felix with his filthy, twisted mouth. He must want this. He held tighter to his hips, which Ashe only took as encouragement. 

Dimitri knew he shoulder reciprocate, and looked down, appreciating the view of silver again. He bent his neck forward, his lips, still so rough and dry, brushing over his forehead. He could only imagine that it must be unpleasant to be kissed by him, but Ashe didn’t seem to think so. He moaned and looked up, beaming.

“Y-you can… do whatever you like with me,” he offered.

And what a generous thing to say, what a generous thing no sane man would offer the mad King. Was Ashe so deluded? Did he believe in him so much that it was beyond dangerous and just insane?

Dimitri didn’t have the will left to correct him. He picked him up--how easy it was--and settled him back on the many pillows, only to bow his head to him, as if Ashe were his King instead. He pressed his face against that slender stomach, still unscarred, still unscathed by the wickedness of war somehow, even though he knew Ashe had been through so, so many battles at his side.

“D-Dimitri?”

He ignored him, nuzzling against that soft stomach, the gentle skin of a man whose heart never turned towards darkness, unlike him. He’d not realized how invaluable Ashe was. He must keep him… he must keep him by his side, always.

Ashe yelped in delighted surprise as Dimitri used his hands to flip him to his side, lumbering closer, hunched over his back, curled behind him. “Let me touch you,” Dimitri begged softly. What other service could he give this person who had been his moral compass during those vicious times?

Ashe didn’t even have time to answer. He moaned as he felt his King’s hand, large, hot, curl around his cock, rub slowly. It was just a bit clumsy, but it was so, so earnest. Ashe deserved everything. Ashe deserved to be King, to protect the people of this land, and he… he did not.

He swallowed up Ashe’s whimpers as he stroked him, knowing he didn’t even deserve to sully Ashe with his hands. But he wanted to give him what he asked for. He rumbled quietly behind Ashe’s shoulder as he moved his fingers, his scarred palms, coaxing the cries from his knight. Even if Ashe had not been knighted yet, Dimitri knew few others as worthy as he was, as worthy as a man so skilled in battle, as worthy of someone who retained his soft-hearted ideals throughout the bloodshed.

Dimitri couldn’t help but smile as Ashe squirmed under his hands, against his body. He was so sweet, so warm. Dimitri imagined keeping him in his bed every night, lying beside him, haunted no more by the hissing ghosts who would not let him sleep, listening to the song of his voice as he touched him.

“Y-your Majesty…” Ashe whimpered, bucking his hips forward and reaching back to grip Dimitri’s arm helplessly.

He shouldn’t be angry. After all, Ashe had been so diligent in remembering to call him by his name before, but immediately, the barrier was thrown up between them.

Of course. How could Dimitri have ever thought himself Ashe’s equal, imagined sleeping beside him? He was the King, a servant to the people no matter how revered. A servant to Ashe, Ashe whose heart was stalwart and true when his own was so frail.

If Ashe noticed the sudden lack of emotion that Dimitri touched him with, he didn’t let on. He kept writhing, silver hair sticking to the heat of his freckled cheek, and he kept singing for him, moaning with pleasure until he finally spent himself over Dimitri’s fist, warm and sticky. He whined, almost keening in pleasure as his body convulsed, the muscles of his stomach contracting.

He turned his head over his shoulder immediately as Dimitri let go, wiping his hand on the sheets. “That was so kind of you, Your Majesty…” Ashe whispered, glowing as he smiled at him. “Please, allow me--”

“I am tired,” Dimitri said, flat and untruthful as he sat up, pulling away from him. His own body had begun to respond to hearing Ashe’s voice, but the arousal was only physical at this point. All pleasure, all happiness had utterly drained from him as he climbed over Ashe and stood, preparing to go.

Only then did Ashe realize something was wrong. He sat upright too quickly, reached for Dimitri too fast in panic--in the speed that no person should ever approach a man as traumatized by war and death as his King was.

“W-wait!”

And that was all he got out before Dimitri struck.

The blow was as savage as any that could be expected from him. Ashe tumbled from the bed with a cry, half-blinded, not even sure what exactly was happening or where he’d been hit. The pain hadn’t caught up with his awareness yet. He rolled a bit, hitting his back against the desk. Then the pain struck, finding its way into every muscle that was weary from training earlier, every muscle that had tensed with a flurry of bliss when Dimitri’s arms encircled him, correcting his posture, his stance, his grip on the lance.

Dimitri realized only a moment later what he’d done and lurched forward to grab at him, to fix his grave mistake, horrified by himself. “A-Ashe! I--”

He stared down the sharpened tip of an arrow. He’d never forget this, never forget the image of Ashe, sweet Ashe, kneeling on the floor, covered to his thighs in his nightshirt, reddened from pleasure and exertion, his green eyes consumed by terror, with his bow in his shaking hands.

If he released the arrow, it would be treason. It would be regicide. To Dimitri, it was just a hunt; a hunter with a successful prize.

  
  


To Dimitri, it would be a mercy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry...

Hello everyone,

I'm so sorry it's been taking me so long to write! My best friend and I are moving out of state and we have a lot of stuff to do. Recently I've been going through a lot of crises as well (both in loss and identity) and I appreciate your patience so much.

The annoying part is that I have to move this fic and a few others onto a different A03 profile. I've not set up the new profile yet, so if you wish to follow the newer version of this fic, I'll have it posted on my twitter @Mechanist_Macha so be on the lookout for that as well. _**IT WILL BE UNDER A DIFFERENT TITLE**_ so please be aware of that!

Thank you so much for the comments and the kudos; I appreciate you all so much and I hope you keep reading! <3333


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